Page 37 of When a Duke Desires a Lass

The craven coward.

In point of fact, Emily conceded she’d been at fault too. Orphaned as a young child and a burden to a stuffy older brother, she’d yearned for love and affection.

A coal tit landed on a lilac branch, the lavender blooms on the cusp of blooming. The bird artfully balanced despite the capricious breeze ruffling its feathers.

The urge to pack her belongings in the wee morning hours and escape in Baxter’s coach to her cottage in Bristol had tempted Emily greatly. To be perfectly honest, she still hadn’t utterly dismissed that possibility.

Leaving would be best for Justina and Avery, she told herself.

But Emily’s love for Tobias wouldn’t let her sneak off. At least not without saying farewell first.

He deserved that.

She deserved that.

Undoubtedly, her offer of employment as a companion would be rescinded if and when the ugly truth of her deception became known.

She bit the fingernail of her forefinger in the manner she had as a small child.

Marlow-Westbrook mightn’t be related to Clement.

Yet, instinct told her he was. There was a faint familial resemblance around his eyes and his jawline.

Her ruse had finally come to its expected ruinous end.

Honestly, Emily fretted more about how her lies would affect Avery and Justina. Baxter and Tobias wouldn’t feel the brunt of the censure. Men rarely did.

Dukes never did.

The least selfish, wisest thing was to leave.

Now.

While everyone was away.

She put her fist to her mouth to still the animalistic cry that hurtled to the front of her mouth.

It wasn’t fair.

None of this was Emily’s fault. The injustice coiled deep in her belly, bitter and hot.

The pain she’d experienced when Clement had abandoned her was a mere scratch compared to the agony cleaving her in two at the thought of leaving Tobias. To never see his beloved face again. Never hear the rich timbre of his brogue. Never, ever, feel his arms around her or his lips upon hers.

A fat, warm teardrop landed on her other hand, and she stared at it in surprise.

She hadn’t even realized she’d begun weeping. Swiping at the offending moisture, she willed the tears to stop.

Setting aside her needlework, she rose.

Emily knew what she must do. What the right thing to do was.

A soft rap upon the door drew her attention.

Bevels stood there in all of his dignified fustiness.

“Mrs. Grenville, the Duke of Heatherston has called. Are you at home?”

Emily’s heart leaped for joy and then promptly plummeted to her slippers.

Tobias was here.

Too late, her heart cried.

It was too late. Too late to declare her love. Too late to seize what he’d offered her all of those months ago.

“Yes, Bevels. Please show him in.”

So Emily could tell him goodbye.